


Man Friday

by Boothros



Series: Scenes From A Seaside Window [1]
Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-14 15:02:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18478666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boothros/pseuds/Boothros





	Man Friday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sandra Reavill](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Sandra+Reavill).



Man Friday

Doyle often thought of ‘Robinson Crusoe’ on evenings like this. He’d spent many a half term holiday as a boy watching the shows on his mate Paul’s TV. It hardly mattered that the ancient French series was broadcast in shakily, over-exposed black and white, as the television set hadn't been capable of producing anything else.

Nowadays, it was Doyle who combed the shore wearing faded cut-offs and a grizzling beard. It wasn’t Robinson’s tropical paradise he inhabited, but it was just as quiet in early April.

On a pale, empty beach, Doyle’s memories could soar. If he took his stick (and some Brufen), he could pretend that both his legs worked perfectly. With an inhaler in his pocket, the edge of the wind wouldn't steal his breath. As long as he didn’t travel _too_ far, he could be back safe indoors without need of the emergency services. As always, counting his blessings, he’d allow himself to sit. Allow himself to remember.

He'd never imagined as a small boy watching all those old films that his own life would become filled with such drama, terror, love and loss.

He looked at his meagre collection of driftwood and shells. Flotsam and jetsam of a tide gone by. So many incredible people had been the flotsam and jetsam of his life, now all passed on. All now lost on a tide of sadness and regret.

Such time’s they’d all had! Running around on two decent legs, always half-expecting the bullet that could end it all. Cowley’s bullet of course, had occurred _many_ years before but the old goat never _would_ listen to the doctors. Most of those that hadn't got out ended up becoming Doyle’s memories, his chagrin.

A setting sun, though charming, was not the most welcome sight, though Doyle need not have really worried.

******

Knowing the times and tide, Bodie is there watching and waiting as he always does and always will. Doyle’s ‘Man Friday’ will drag him off the blessed beach, pour a brandy down him, warm and feed him, then love him ‘till his ‘spell of the moodies’ pass once again. They’ll drink and shout then laugh and love, both too sad to cry and both too old to care.

They’ll both remember always, the flotsam and jetsam, knowing how lucky they were to be washed up on the same beach, on the same tide. They’ll always remember, always collect the shells, the memories of the past, the beginnings of their forever.


End file.
